When cold and darkness grip the lands
And pessimism holds its sway;
While blizzards squeeze with wintry hands
And hold the day's own heat at bay;
She comes with angel's spreading wing
And leaves her verses in the lee
Of some high drift, where angels sing
And warm the earth, and let us see
How misplaced was our saddest thought;
How fleeting was the winter's grip;
What welcome sentiments she brought
And we must never let them slip,
Back to the brink of true despair:
Beyond her help, beyond repair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem